She had at one time exhibited sensibility, and had even, while suffering from the effects of a heartache, written to Béranger for his advice. But under the ravages of life’s storms, her spirit had become soured, for she had been forced, in turn, to give lessons on the piano, to act as manageress of a table d’hôte, to assist others in writing for the fashion journals, to sublet apartments, and to traffic in lace in the world of light women, her relations with whom enabled her to make herself useful to many persons, and amongst others to Arnoux. She had formerly been employed in a commercial establishment.
There it was one of her functions to pay the workwomen; and for each of them there were two livres, one of which always remained in her hands. Dussardier, who, through kindness, kept the amount payable to a girl named Hortense Baslin, presented himself one day at the cash-office at the moment when Mademoiselle Vatnaz was presenting this girl’s account, 1,682 francs, which the cashier paid her. Now, on the very day before this, Dussardier had entered down the sum as 1,082 in the girl Baslin’s book. He asked to have it given back to him on some pretext; then, anxious to bury out of sight the story of this theft, he stated that he had lost it. The workwoman ingenuously repeated this falsehood to Mademoiselle Vatnaz, and the latter, in order to satisfy her mind about the matter, came with a show of indifference to talk to the shopman on the subject. He contented himself with the answer: “I have burned it!”—that was all. A little while afterwards she quitted the house, without believing that the book had been really destroyed, and filled with the idea that Dussardier had preserved it.
On hearing that he had been wounded, she rushed to his abode, with the object of getting it back. Then, having discovered nothing, in spite of the closest searches, she was seized with respect, and presently with love, for this youth, so loyal, so gentle, so heroic and so strong! At her age such good fortune in an affair of the heart was a thing that one would not expect. She threw herself into it with the appetite of an ogress; and she had given up literature, Socialism, “the consoling doctrines and the generous Utopias,” the course of lectures which she had projected on the “Desubalternization of Woman”—everything, even Delmar himself; finally she offered to unite herself to Dussardier in marriage.
Although she was his mistress, he was not at all in love with her. Besides, he had not forgotten her theft. Then she was too wealthy for him. He refused her offer. Thereupon, with tears in her eyes, she told him about what she had dreamed—it was to have for both of them a confectioner’s shop. She possessed the capital that was required beforehand for the purpose, and next week this would be increased to the extent of four thousand francs. By way of explanation, she referred to the proceedings she had taken against the Maréchale.
Dussardier was annoyed at this on account of his friend. He recalled to mind the cigar-holder that had been presented to him at the guardhouse, the evenings spent in the Quai Napoleon, the many pleasant chats, the books lent to him, the thousand acts of kindness which Frederick had done in his behalf. He begged of the Vatnaz to abandon the proceedings.
She rallied him on his good nature, while exhibiting an antipathy against Rosanette which he could not understand. She longed only for wealth, in fact, in order to crush her, by-and-by, with her four-wheeled carriage.
Dussardier was terrified by these black abysses of hate, and when he had ascertained what was the exact day fixed for the sale, he hurried out. On the following morning he made his appearance at Frederick’s house with an embarrassed countenance.
“I owe you an apology.”
“For what, pray?”
“You must take me for an ingrate, I, whom she is the—” He faltered.
“Oh! I’ll see no more of her. I am not going to be her accomplice!” And as the other was gazing at him in astonishment:
“Isn’t your mistress’s furniture to be sold in three days’ time?”
“Who told you that?”
“Herself—the Vatnaz! But I am afraid of giving you offence—”
“Impossible, my dear friend!”
“Ah! that is true—you are so good!”
And he held out to him, in a cautious fashion, a hand in which he clasped a little pocketbook made of sheep-leather.
It contained four thousand francs—all his savings.
“What! Oh! no! no!—”
“I knew well I would wound your feelings,” returned Dussardier, with a tear in the corner of his eye.
Frederick pressed his hand, and the honest fellow went on in a piteous tone:
“Take the money! Give me that much pleasure! I am in such a state of despair. Can it be, furthermore, that all is over? I thought we should be happy when the Revolution had come. Do you remember what a beautiful thing it was? how freely we breathed! But here we are flung back into a worse condition of things than ever.
“Now, they are killing our Republic, just as they killed the other one—the Roman! ay, and poor Venice! poor Poland! poor Hungary! What abominable deeds! First of all, they knocked down the trees of Liberty, then they restricted the right to vote, shut up the clubs, reestablished the censorship and surrendered to the priests the power of teaching, so that we might look out for the Inquisition. Why not? The Conservatives want to give us a taste of the stick. The
